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Archive for the month “Aug, 2017”

I love toby jugs. My grandmother had a lot of them, in all sizes. They were proper toby jugs, of course, in three-corner hats and 18th-century clothing. In fact, everyone seemed to have at least one of them when I was growing up. Every mantelpiece sported a rotund toby.

Now, of course, toby jugs aren’t as common, nor are they dressed in three-cornered hats. These days you can even get Richard III toby jugs. Well, they’ve been around some time, of course, and as all sorts of other figures.

I don’t think I fancy Shylock lurking on my mantelpiece, but Richard can sit there any time he wants!

“Apart from a recent council explanatory information panel tucked on its side wall above a litter bin, few passers-by would know that the modern brick box building housing a hotel and casino was the site of Leicester’s most famous inn, that once was the penultimate stop of a king of England. For this is the spot on which the famous Blue Boar Inn was sighted.

“It’s a name known to everyone with an interest in historic Leicester. It owes its fame to a watershed in England’s history and, of course, to a monarch whose name has recently made Leicester known worldwide.

“Today’s bland building, out of scale and style with the rest of Highcross Street, is the site of the old Blue Boar Inn, from where King Richard III and his nobles led his army into the Battle of Bosworth, which ended the Wars of the Roses – it also ended the king’s life and the Plantagenet dynasty.

“On August 20, 1485, Richard came to stay at the Blue Boar – probably then known as the White Boar – because, it seems, Leicester Castle was by then in a state of decline and was considered unfit and unprepared for the monarch. So, Richard went to what was then the town’s best inn. It was situated in Highcross Street, then Leicester’s main thoroughfare.

“Although the inn has been immortalised by great Leicester artist John Flower (see above) it is thought that what is seen in his drawing was just one wing of what would have been, in Richard III’s time, a much larger building. The king is thought to have occupied the large room on the first floor of the portion of the inn we see in Flower’s drawing.

“After this historic event, the story is that the bed, which it is said the king brought with him, was from then on known as the King’s Bed and that many years later, a hidden treasure of coins was found in the bedstead. In 1605, the inn’s landlady, Mrs Clarke, was murdered “through connivance of her female servants, in order to obtain possession of the gold”.

“Since the discovery of Richard III’s remains, Leicester has become a place of pilgrimage with visitors from all over the world coming to the Cathedral and the visitors’ centre. Wouldn’t it have been wonderful if the Blue Boar had been preserved, so that, too, could have been included on the pilgrims’ schedule?

“However, before we begin to blame 20th century planners for the inn’s destruction, we have to go back much further – to the early Victorian period, in fact, as it was 1836 when the Blue Boar was felled, having “passed into the hands of a speculative builder who waved aside all protests and tore the place down”. Sounds familiar, 200 years on. This act was described by Professor Jack Simmons as “a hateful act of vandalism”.

“In its place a terrace of houses was built. In the 1960s, these houses were demolished and a similar sort of box building built, housing the Exquisite Knitwear company.

“This area is once again becoming a focal point of Leicester’s commercial life.

“Today’s replacement for the Blue Boar Inn is a Travelodge – which is rather appropriate, when you think about it.”

This (below) is Shotover Park in Oxfordshire, formerly part of the Wychwood royal hunting forest. It became the property of one Timothy Tyrrell in 1613, the year after the death of Henry Stuart, Prince of Wales, whom Tyrrell had served as Master of the Royal Buckhounds. Tyrrell was further honoured with a knighthood in 1624 and his grandson James built the current House, a listed building, on the site in 1714-5.

Stuart Oxfordshire was not Yorkist Suffolk, Prince Henry was not Richard III and buckhounds are not horses. Nevertheless, Sir Timothy was serving the Crown in a very similar role to that of his namesake and it is not surprising that readers will wonder whether he was related to Sir James through a different branch of the family, as a direct descendant or not at all. In a similar case, we showed “Robin” Catesby to be descended from William.

We can take a few clues from Sir James’ life and career. He was born into a Lancastrian family in about 1455 at Gipping Hall, near Stowmarket, and was appointed Master of Horse in 1483. In 1485, he became Governor of Guisnes and may have transported the “Princes” to the continent en route to taking up this position – in which case they could have resided at Gipping Hall for a short while. Gipping Chapel (left) still stands. In 1502, he was arrested for helping the fugitive Earl of Suffolk and tried at the London Guildhall for this alone. Starkey has shown that Henry VII and Elizabeth of York watched it at the Tower, presumably live on television, including Tyrrell’s murder confession which nobody mentioned until More wrote some years after Henry’s death – see Leas’ article.

In other words, this Tyrrell was associated with the sons of a King, as Sir Timothy was to be. Sir James’ family was also associated with Great Wenham near Capel St. Mary and benefitted when his 1504 attainder was reversed only three years later. He had three sons and a daughter, of whom at least three survived him.

A curious point has been raised about whether or not many medieval knights chose a dog (or other animal) badge because of their family name. The main candidate to come to mind is Sir Humphrey Talbot, Marshal of Calais, who in 1475 carried a Renyngehonde (running hound) badge of a talbot, which breed may have taken its name from the Talbot family. The talbot is now extinct, but was apparently rather like a foxhound, but all over grey/cream, with much shorter legs. (See illustration below for a more accurate likeness than the one above.)

In Edward IV’s French Expedition of 1475 by Francis Pierrepont Barnard, Humphrey’s badge is described as follows: “ ‘Renynghonde filu [er] on fhau[l]d[er] a mollet.’ This ‘running hound’ was the talbot, the well-known punning badge of his house, and the mullet is his cadency mark, as, at this date, third surviving son. His father, slain at Châtillon in 1453, is alluded to by this badge about 1449: ‘Talbott oure goode dogge ;’ and again in 1450: ‘Talbot oure gentille dogge’.

In the same work, Sir Humphrey’s eldest half-brother, the 2nd Talbot Earl of Shrewsbury, is also called ‘dogge’, as is Sir Gilbert Talbot, who was Sir Humphrey’s half-nephew, and so on through various Talbots.

You can see a 1475 illustration of Sir Humphrey’s badge below. It is also from the above book:

The inscription tells us that in the 1475 invasion of France he contributed for the first quarter 10 men-at-arms and 100 archers (for which he was paid £298 0s 6d). At that time he was a Knight of the Royal Body, but is not described as a Banneret.

So, does anyone know of another example of a knight/nobleman using a dog (or any other animal) as a pun on his name?

A weekend of talks and concerts was held from Friday, 30th June until Sunday, 2nd July, to celebrate Middleham’s connections with King Richard III. I hope at least some of you managed to go along and that you enjoyed it to the full.

Oh, yawn. I was enjoying this Leicester Mercury article about a 15th-century ring found at Kirby Muxloe, until I read: “Richard Duke of Gloucester, later Richard III, accused William [Hastings] of treason and had him taken outside, where he was beheaded on the spot.” Bah! Humbug!

While I understand the need to make a romantic story out of this lovely brooch, and yes, it’s not impossible that it was indeed a love token from Hastings to his wife, but the inclusion of the old chestnut about Richard having Hastings beheaded ‘on the spot’ ruins it all. Why not simply say he was executed for treason. That would be enough to still make it a tragic story of doomed love.

And if Hastings was so in love with his wife, why all the other women? Because he couldn’t keep it in his codpiece, that’s why!

So, a Spanish judge has ordered that Salvador Dali’s remains be exhumed in order to settle a paternity case. But here in the UK, a marble pot with a lid cannot be opened to examine the bones inside. Many of which are reputedly animal bones, not human.

Oh, well, I suppose there’s some logic in there. Somewhere. Danged if I can see it though. Why NOT open it? If it somehow turns out to contain the bones of the sons of Edward IV, I’ll shut up. But as it won’t be them, but will probably be dated to the Roman or pre-Roman period, I’ll keep bleating.

Between 19 – 24 June this year, Professor Turi King gave a Special Plenary Lecture in Dubrovnik, Republic of Croatia at the 10th International Society for Applied Biological Sciences (ISABS) Conference in Dubrovnik, Republic of Croatia. Her subject was ‘Richard III: the resolution of a 500 year old cold case’, and provided an insight into the ground-breaking discovery of the mortal remains.

Dr Turi King knows her stuff, so I’m sure the talk was very well received.

In the second century BC, in a Britain still filled with wild boar, beaver, lynx, bears and wolves, a group of people settled near to the River Soar. The descendants of Bronze Age peoples and Neolithic farmers, they built a series of huts on the east bank of the river, their settlement extending across some twenty acres. They called themselves the Corieltauvi; the closest translation of their name would be the ‘army of the land of many rivers.’ The exact name of their settlement is unknown but it contains a Celtic root word similar to ‘rath’, meaning (approximately) ‘ramparts’, which can be found in many Irish place names today. This humble Iron Age settlement is the origin of modern day Leicester.

Roman interest in this area of Britain began when they realised it was a place of strategic value; and so it became an intersection of the Fosse Way and Gartree Street. There might have been some opposition from the local Corieltauvi, but the tribesmen proved no match for the might of Rome; a fort or base was soon established on the banks of the Soar for the Legion XIV. Quite simple in plan and housing approx 500 men, the fort was surrounded by a ditch and rampart; it retained the name of the ancient British settlement but in a new, Larinised form–Ratae.

The new fort brought much trade to the area and a small civilian settlement quickly sprang up. A few years later a second fort was constructed nearby—it is thought this defensive structure may have been built in response to Boudicca’s revolt. However, the brave British Queen’s chariots never rolled up to Ratae’s earthen ramparts.

About 30 years later, most of the Legions were recalled from Britain and the forts on the Soar handed over to civilians, although they were remained part of the Roman Empire. Ratae became an important tribal administrative capital.

Emperor Hadrian’s visit to the town in 122 AD seems to have sparked a new rebuilding phase. Outmoded wooden structures were dismantled and local granite and millstone grit from Derbyshire brought to build a forum, basilica and colonnades. A few decades later, a public bath house was constructed—today its remains are known as the Jewry Wall, Britain’s largest free-standing piece of Roman architecture. Water for the baths came to the site from Knighton Brook via an aqueduct. Some of the earthworks surrounding the water channel still survive and are known as Raw Dykes (the word ‘Raw’ has the same origin as Rath/Ratae.)

At this time in Ratae’s history, the local population grew quite wealthy. Townhouses appeared with opulent mosaics, painted walls, heating and bathing facilities. A stone wall was built around the perimeter of the settlement, for added security for the residents of the town.

Temples to the varying gods were built too, one being found near St Nicholas’ Church, which today retains much brickwork pilfered from the ancient Roman building. This temple was dedicated to Mithras, the bull-slaying god who was born on December 25 and whose cult was seen as a rival to Christianity. He was a Persian ‘import’ and his all-male accolytes often held their rites in a secret underground chamber known as a Mithraeum. Other evidence has been found of British bull-gods, spear carrying sons of Zeus, and sea-gods. Of great interest is the curse tablet discovered, in which a native British God, Maglus (‘Prince/princely’) is invoked for help in bringing about the destruction of a thief : “To the god Maglus, I give the wrongdoer who stole the cloak of Servandus. Silvester, Roimandus … that he destroy him before the ninth day, the person who stole the cloak of Servandus …”

By the 5th century, however, Ratae was in serious decline as the legions pulled out from Britain and Angles and Saxons began to migrate from their homelands to settle in what is now England . Soon, the town was in ruins, abandoned and decaying . The famous Anglo Saxon poem THE RUIN speaks of the abandoned Roman towns: This masonry is wondrous; Fate broke it.
Courtyard pavements lie smashed; the work of giants is decaying.
Roofs are fallen, ruinous towers,
the frosty gate is ravaged,
chipped roofs torn, fallen,
undermined by old age. The grasp of the earth possesses
the mighty builders, perished and fallen…

The Roman Era of Ratae was over with Rome’s withdrawal from Brittania; the early Middle Ages had begun. After the Romans departed the native Britons called the place, in their own tongue, Caer Lerion or Caerlyr; the Saxons called it Ligora-ceastre, which by Domesday became Ledecestre, and then Leicester. Geoffrey of Monmouth claimed the town’s founder was King Leir (Leir-caister), and the prefix of this name may take its origins from a Celtic water deity known as Llyr.

Today, the remains of Roman buildings and artefacts still frequently are excavated in Leicester. Some recent finds near High Cross have been of considerable importance.

The prevalence of these remains in the city is shown by the fact that when Richard III’s remains were recovered from the ruins of Greyfriars, it was initially thought he had an arrowhead embedded in his spine. As it turned out, the ‘arrowhead’ was a stray Roman nail that happened to have ended up under his body when the monks dug a hasty grave to hold him.

It is also interesting to realise that the last Plantagenet King now rests in a brick lined vault above the remains of one of Leicester’s Roman temples, its scant foundations discovered when restoration was made on St Martin’s church in the late 1800’s.